


The Walls Closing In

by nerigby96



Category: Martin and Lewis
Genre: Anxiety, Claustrophobia, Cold Weather, M/M, Partnership, Sharing Body Heat, Smoking, Understanding, Unresolved Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-08 23:41:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20843966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerigby96/pseuds/nerigby96
Summary: Dean's claustrophobia forces him out into the cold night air. Fortunately, Jerry brings him his coat.





	The Walls Closing In

For the first time that evening, Dean breathes easily. He pulls the cold night air in through his nostrils, then lets it out through his mouth, a white plume invading the darkness. A few more calming breaths and then he’s fine, but not quite ready to go back in. He strolls around for a while, the anxious, oppressive heat of his not-quite-panic-attack receding, decisively usurped by the breeze that gnaws his bones and tugs his flesh. He knows he should have grabbed his coat, but then again, if he’d had time to do that, he would have also had time to calm himself inside.

He feels a twinge of guilt for abandoning Jeanne in the middle of the dance floor, but it’s better this way; she knows how he gets in crowds like that. Then all guilty thoughts are shoved aside as Dean begins to shiver furiously. He lights a cigarette – chases the tip with the flame he’s shaking so badly – hoping it will warm him a little. He puffs, keeping the filter clenched between his front teeth, and then shoves his hands in his armpits, stamps his feet, knowing he could just walk ten feet back inside and grab his coat or – even better – stay in the warm, just away from the crowd.

But it’s too much.

“Paul?”

Dean turns. Jerry stands a few feet away. He’s put on his long coat and has Dean’s over his arm. His eyes are wide, concerned, but Dean can tell he’s trying to be casual.

“I guess you found me,” he says, forcing his icy lips, his chattering teeth to form the words. “Just a little claustrophobic in there.”

Jerry seems a little relieved. “Oh, right. You shoulda said, Paul.”

Dean shrugs. They look at each other for a moment, and then Jerry steps forward.

“It’s fucking freezing out here,” he says, and drapes Dean’s coat over his shoulders. He pulls the collar close around his throat. His fingers linger, stroking the lapels.

“I should go back,” says Dean, his voice low.

“Mm.” Jerry stays close. “Probably.”

“Jeanne must be worried.”

Jerry takes a step back. His teeth worry his thumbnail. “I told her it’s fine. Said she should stay in the warm, I’d go looking for you.” He looks at Dean. “Doesn’t mean I have to find you right away.”

“Jer—”

He slips easily into the Idiot voice: “We’re buddies and partners and pals, Dean. We gotta stick togeddah.” Then back: “It was getting too stuffy in there anyhow.”

Dean glances at the door to the club. The doorman catches his eye, tips his hat with a smile. It would be so easy, Dean thinks, to go back in. If he starts walking, Jerry will follow. They’ll put their coats back in the cloakroom, meet their wives on the dance floor, and maybe this time Dean will be okay. Maybe this time he won’t feel the walls closing in on him, see the floor tilt, hear his blood thumping in his head.

“Paul?”

“Hm?”

“You want we should go back in?”

Dean looks at his partner. He drops his cigarette, crushes it. Then he puts his arms through his heavy camel coat sleeves.

“Come on.” He takes Jerry’s elbow and walks away from the club.

Jerry bats his eyelashes, touches the tip of his tongue to his lip. “Well,” he says, and then calls over his shoulder to the doorman, lisping, “Tell the girls not to wait up.” He flaps his hand.

“Have a good night,” the doorman calls, his deep rich laughter propelling them into the night.

***

“We don’t have to come,” says Jerry. “If it’s too much, you know. If it makes you uncomfortable, we can just… not go.”

Dean thinks about this. _We_, he thinks, frowning. “Jer, you’re not claustrophobic.”

“Well, no, but… you know…”

“What do I know? Pretend I don’t know.”

They’re sitting on the railings overlooking the sand. They’re sitting close. When they got here, Jerry left Dean alone to look down on his partner as the younger man ran along the sand. Jerry picked up shells, broken glass, shiny stones, for Dean’s approval. The moon was big enough and bright enough tonight that Dean didn’t need to go closer to see each find in perfect detail.

“Oh boy!” Jerry cried at regular intervals. “A perfect thpethimen!”

And then “Hey, Dean!” Holding up a misshapen rock. “It’s your old nose!” Then covering his mouth, eyes tightly shut, delighted with himself.

Dean shook his head, biting his lip to keep back the grin that threatened. “I thought it’d make a nice home for a crab.”

“You’d know all about crabs, buddy,” said Jerry.

This went on. When Dean was tired, he called to Jerry, who came – he always does – and sat beside him. Wordlessly, he slipped an arm into Dean’s coat and around his waist.

“Hey, Jer, hold—”

His nimble fingers dipped into Dean’s tux and emerged with his silver lighter.

“Don’t get excited,” he said, lighting a cigarette. “Want I should put it back?” He came close, speaking conspiratorially. “I can put it _anywhere_.” He blew smoke into Dean’s bemused face. Dean spluttered, waved a hand to clear it. He felt Jerry’s hand slip back into his tux, felt the heavy silver weight drop back into his pocket, and waited for Jerry’s arm to retreat.

It didn’t.

He looked at Jerry, who sat smoking, staring out at the sea. Dean opened his mouth. He thought about the hand that rested on his waist. He closed his mouth again.

Now, Jerry snuggles closer. Dean doesn’t move.

“If you don’t go, I don’t go,” Jerry says, as though this is the most obvious thing in the world. “I wasn’t even with you when you left,” he says. “But I…” He bites his thumbnail.

“What?”

He makes a confused, uncomfortable noise.

“Tell me.”

“I just knew something was wrong.”

Dean turns to him. Jerry is already looking at him, and now his breath catches. He stares at his shoes and says, “Suddenly I looked up – I don’t know why – and I saw you leaving.” He shrugs. “I just knew something was wrong.”

They’re pressed so close Dean can’t tell when Jerry ends and he begins. Their height makes them perfectly matched: feet, legs, hips, arms, heads, all aligned, one Martin-and-Lewis-shaped blob. Even their coats match.

Jerry flicks his cigarette on to the sand below.

“It’s better out here anyhow.” He nudges Dean. “I get you all to myself.”

Dean looks at him. The younger man is beaming. It’s too bright, that smile, to look at directly, like the sun rising too early, too quickly. Dean offers a small smile in return, and Jerry goes bashful, apparently a pretence, but maybe he’s just realised what he’s said. He buries his face in Dean’s neck. For a second or two, Dean feels the rapid little puffs of air from Jerry’s nose. Then his partner shifts position. He’s doing something there, something that makes Dean feel hot and cold all at once. He thinks about pushing Jerry away. He thinks about telling him to stop. He decides instead to focus on the silver path the moon makes on the sea. It shimmers and ripples as the waves whisper up and down the sand. He wonders how many men come here to sit on the railings, to sit close. He wonders how many men come to watch the moon paint the beach in shades of silver, white and grey. He wonders how many men sit here with their arms around each other, the one with his face hidden in the other’s neck.

_Now_, he wonders, a little alarmed but not too concerned, _just how long have we been holding hands?_


End file.
